What Could Have Been
by mettigel
Summary: Sometimes, one little thing changes everything. What if Ron had, for a change, thought before he spoke? Warning: ungodly amounts of fluff! COMPLETE. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Insecurities

**Author's Note****s: I had started to write this fic last year, but did not manage to finish it at a "seasonally appropriate" time. So bear in mind that this has been sitting on my PC for almost one year now, waiting for the right time to be spewn out at last. Merry Christmas!**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR.**

* * *

"So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?" _[1]_

Ron made a face. He was in a good mood to agree with Hermione just to shut her up but he thought better of it, realizing that he would make a complete prick of himself it he said that. No, he might be a hormonal teenage boy, but if he was honest to himself, looks did not have that much of a priority for him. No, certainly not, he thought to himself as he threw a fleeting glance up at Hermione. Still, he did not want her - or _anyone_ for that matter - to think that there was the teensiest bit of a chance that he could fancy a girl like Eloise Midgeon, spotty, obese and socially awkward as she was, with an annoying voice and a liking for the sort of clothes that Ginny used to wear when she was seven. It would result in endless teasing. How could Hermione think that he would like a girl like that, he wondered, his hands shaking. It was obvious that she was trying to prod him into that direction, making a match between him and Eloise. Probably just for the sake of taking the mickey out of him, just like his twin brothers would. What other reason would she have for harping on about Eloise now?

"I'd take a girl I can _have a good time with_," he said pointedly, avoiding her gaze and hoping that his tone would make it clear to Hermione once and for all that Eloise was _not_ a girl he could have a good time with.

If he had looked, he would have seen that Hermione had given a start at his words. But his complete attention was now directed to the reconstruction of the house of his still smoldering Exploding Snap cards and he stubbornly decided to remain deaf to the Yule Ball topic for the rest of the day.

* * *

Ron's words kept preying on Hermione's mind. He had said that he wanted to go with a girl he could have a good time with. They were best friends - so surely he could have a good time with _her_, right? And while he had not given a definite answer to her question, he had not explicitly confirmed that looks were really that important to him, so she would not be ruled out completely, would she? She hated herself whenever she found herself contemplating this. In her opinion, the concept of females being reduced to nothing but their outward appearance was beyond disgusting and there were already way too many who let that happen to themselves, and she certainly did not want to be another one of those. If anything, a person should be valued for their achievements and their contributions to the world, she thought, and not just for some stupid inherent physical features. That was definitely what was way more important to her than her appearance. But then again, she had never fully managed to shake off the voices of her classmates in her former Muggle primary school that had teased her day after day because of her impossible hair and oversized teeth along with her genuine interest in the school subjects - the latter being something that they had all mistaken for a want to best them all and that had given her the reputation of a teacher's pet, which, in turn, was the reason why she had never had any friends to stand up for her and tell them wrong. It were the same voices that spoke in the thankfully increasingly rare moments when she wondered if the boys had truly accepted her as an equal or if they only kept her around because they considered her useful, with what the help she provided them with their homework and all.

She was not able to focus on her Potions notes the evening after next when she was sitting in the crowded common room along with Ron and Harry. Her gaze drifted over to Lavender and Parvati, self-declared Hogwarts fashionista and natural beauty respectively, who were sitting at a nearby table, engrossed in a heated discussion of potential dance partners and confirmed pairs that was occasionally interrupted by "Oooh"s, "Aaah"s, fits of giggles and shameless glances at Harry. Would Ron prefer a girl like these two over her, undoubtedly attractive but somewhat shallow and silly? The fleeting image of Ron with Lavender on his arm popped up in her mind and her stomach clenched in a nauseating sort of way. No, _she_ wanted to be in that place. _She_ wanted to be with Ron. That was for sure.

But wasn't this thought rather selfish? What about Ron? He already seemed to be mortified by the mere prospect of having to go to the Ball, not to mention having to wear those old-fashioned and filthy second-hand dress robes that he so obviously hated. Wouldn't it be even worse for him if he had to turn up there with her, Hermione, to boot, as opposed to a beauty like Fleur whom he apparently fancied? Wouldn't he be ashamed of her? It was not like _he_ had asked _her_, either, after all, and there must have been a reason.

It were thoughts like these that made her usual voice speak in her mind with a hint of self-loathing. '_No, he wouldn't_,' she thought. They were best friends, for Heaven's sake! They had been spending nearly every single day of the past three years together and he had never seemed to be ashamed of having her around. But then again, the Yule Ball was different - they would have to dress up, dance with each other... Basically dreadfully date-like. But if she made her intentions really clear to him, if she could make him understand that she only wanted to go _as a friend_ (well, she certainly wanted to go as more than just that, but telling him that would scare him away and ruin their friendship for sure), as, well, just as the sort of person he could _have a good time with_, like he had said, maybe he would not mind...

Another girlish giggle brought Hermione back to the here and now. She cast a glance at its source and sure enough, Lavender and Parvati were gawking into their direction again. Her stomach tensed up even more. If she waited too long, some other girl might claim Ron first. She had to act soon.

"Ron?" she asked tentatively, not feeling ready to do it at all.

Ron, who had spent the past half hour absent-mindedly staring into space, blotching his half-written Transfiguration essay with ink that was dripping from his quill, jerked out of whatever reverie he had been in.

"Huh?" he said, knocking over the gratefully empty goblet of pumpkin juice next to him as he flinched. A few leftover droplets of juice flew out of the goblet and splattered onto Harry's essay, making Harry sigh with frustration.

"Could we get out of here for a moment?" Hermione asked, wishing her voice did not sound as loud as she found it did. "I need to talk with you in private."

Ron glanced at Harry who looked up at him, shrugged and returned his attention to his essay.

"Um, sure," Ron replied hesitantly.

Hermione stood up and left the common room, Ron at her heels. She felt very self-conscious as they walked down the corridor and entered the next best empty classroom she could find, painfully aware of how suspicious the pair of them must be looking to an outsider.

She closed the door behind them and it clunked shut with a bang that resounded unnaturally loud in the silent room. Then she turned towards Ron who was standing a couple of feet away from her.

"Ron," she began, clasping together her hands in front of herself to keep them from shaking. If she messed this up now, their friendship would be as good as over.

"Listen, Hermione," Ron said defensively. "It's only one week till the end of term, so we won't be getting any more homework, and all I still need to do is that Transfiguration essay, unless you count the revision for Snape's stupid antidotes test. We've got plenty of time. There's really no need to -"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, genuinely confused as to why Ron saw it necessary to update her on his homework status, and she furrowed her brow.

"You didn't go here with me to scold me for slacking off?" Ron asked with surprise.

"Well, no," Hermione said, giving a nervous laugh. "Though you really _should_ be working harder if you still want to get that essay done today."

Ron looked down at his shoes, grinning sheepishly.

"So what d'you want to talk about, then?" he asked a few moments later, half looking back up at Hermione who had used the time to work up her courage. She swallowed. Now the time had come. She had to ask him.

"Well," she said, appalled by the raspy sound of her voice, and she felt heat rise to her face. She took a deep breath and then continued, "Have you already found a partner for the ball?"

The tips of his ears had turned scarlet before he even managed to lift his head completely.

"No," he muttered. "I haven't."

"So you haven't asked Fleur Delacour yet?" Hermione blurted out hopefully but did not quite manage to dispel a hint of snappishness from her voice. She instantly wished she had not said it. Why did she have to remind Ron of Fleur now of all times when she least wanted him to think of her? And of course, Ron had to snatch it up, too.

"D'you think I'd have a chance with her?" he asked, tugging uneasily at the sleeve of his jumper. "I mean... she's three years older than me and... well..." His face skipped several shades of red and immediately turned scarlet like his ears. "Well... she's... um... she's bloody _gorgeous_, too. I mean, all the blokes in school would line up for her, wouldn't they?"

Hermione felt as if part of her had just died. There she had it. Ron really wanted to go with Fleur, he had said it himself, even asking her for advice as though he did not even consider her someone to go out with, like she was some sort of a counselor who was supposed to stand on the sidelines, watching, but never to be properly involved. Of course he didn't. What in the name of Merlin's oversized unibrow had she been thinking? That she, plain and with terrible hair, could stand a chance against a girl with the aura of a Veela? How could she have been so stupid?

"Well, there's only one way of finding that out, isn't there?" she spat, turned on the spot and marched to the door. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she did not want Ron to see them.

"Hang on," Ron called and Hermione froze but did not turn around.

"Is that all? Did you make me come here just to ask me _that_?"

"Yes," Hermione lied, feeling stupid.

"I don't believe you," Ron said briskly. "There's something more, isn't there?"

"Never mind. You wouldn't understand it anyway," Hermione said through gritted teeth, desperately wishing that Ron would finally stop pestering her.

She continued to head for the door but Ron quickly walked in front of her, blocking her way.

"Try me!" he snapped and crossed his arms before his chest. "You know, Hermione, just because I'm bloody rubbish at school and everything else that's important to you doesn't mean I'm just some bumbling idiot who doesn't understand a thing!"

Hermione's stomach plummeted. She blinked away the tears in her eyes and looked up at Ron who looked positively hurt. How could this have happened? This was going so horribly wrong. She could not take it any longer. She had to get out of here, now.

_"Willyougototheballwithme?_" she heard herself say before her brain had fully reconnected with her tongue.

Ron's eyes became as wide as saucers. "W-what?" he asked with the air of someone who was thoroughly overwhelmed by a drastic turn of events.

"The Yule Ball. Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" Hermione asked more slowly, frustrated at having to ask again and mortified at having asked in the first place.

Ron still looked utterly dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment and then closed it again, like a fish breathing underwater.

"Forget about it," Hermione said quietly, feeling even more frustrated. She squeezed past Ron and managed to grab the door handle. "I shouldn't have asked. It was all pretty stupid anyway."

"No it wasn't," Ron whispered, his voice so low that Hermione was not sure if she had not, in fact, just imagined it. "I... I will."

Now it was Hermione who had to ask. "What?" she said and looked up at him. His face was still deep red.

"I... I will go... to the ball... with you," Ron replied quietly.

"Really?" Hermione asked incredulously and her heartbeat suddenly tripled in speed. She needed to hear it again. It was much too good to be true.

"Really," Ron confirmed, his voice somewhat firmer this time, and flashed her a bashful grin.

The formerly defeated look on Hermione's face instantly made way for a broad smile. She bit down hard on her lip to suppress her urge to scream out loud with glee. Ron had said yes! He was really going to the ball with her!

"Okay then," she finally said breathlessly, emitting a brief laugh of relief, and walked out of the room.

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Signature Edition, p. 431 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_


	2. The Formation of a Plan

"I still can't believe that Hermione's asked me to the ball," Ron said in a hollow voice for what must have been the tenth time since he had returned to the now considerably quieter common room one hour ago. Hermione and he had parted before the classroom as she had wanted to go to the library - or that was what he had understood at least. He, himself, had made a beeline for the common room and told Harry what had happened, still in a state of shock.

"I don't know what your problem is," said Dean who had overheard their conversation and was kneeling in a nearby armchair, leaning his front against its back to face them. "At least you're going with a friend. I wish I would, too. Takes away a load of the weirdness. You're the luckiest bloke in the school, you are."

"But what if everyone thinks I fancy her?" Ron asked, his voice gaining a pitch. "What if _she_ thinks I fancy her?"

The latter question actually was one that had been bothering him for more than just the past hour. He could not tell when it had really started, but during the past couple of months, he had repeatedly found himself pursuing a disconcerting new habit that consisted of staring at Hermione whenever he thought she would not notice it, taking in all those little habits and mannerisms of hers. Like how she furrowed her brow and bit on her lip when she was in deep concentration or how her eyes shone in different ways when she was excited or upset. How, in her rare absent-minded moments, she would play with her hair without realizing, how little wrinkles formed around her eyes and her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink when she laughed... This list could go on for hours and hours. Somehow, he had to admit to himself, he quite liked the sight of her, he found it rather... well, _what_? He could not really put his finger on it, but every time he watched her, he felt a funny sensation in his stomach and something like warmth filling his chest. His eyes seemed to quite agree, for over the months, they must have developed a mind of their own, automatically recognizing the suitable moments and being drawn to Hermione as through a magnetic force. The trouble was that sooner or later, she would take notice of his behavior - maybe she already _had_ and was just too polite to mention anything - and draw her own conclusions from it. When McGonagall had announced the Yule Ball on Thursday, Ron had briefly contemplated asking Hermione, but how would she have reacted? Especially if she had been aware of his staring, she surely would have been creeped out, considered him a complete perv and ended their friendship, wouldn't she? He could not have blamed her. Even he himself was finding his behavior disturbing.

No, he could not have risked that. Their friendship was much too precious to him to jeopardize it in such a manner. She was off-limits. But now what had happened? He would be going with _her_ of all girls. How in the name of Merlin's pruney old bollocks had he gotten himself into this?

"Ron, first, it was _Hermione_ who asked _you_," Harry said wearily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Second, half the school is going to the ball and I seriously doubt that all of them _fancy_ their partners."

Ron inwardly rolled his eyes at him. He could not take this sort of reminder seriously, not from Harry of all persons who wanted to go with Cho, whom, as a matter of fact, he _did_ fancy in such a ridiculously obvious manner that even he, Ron, could not help noticing.

"That's right," Dean agreed. "Look, I for one am going with Susan from Hufflepuff and I certainly don't fancy her and I think the feeling is mutual. And Seamus is going with Lavender and, granted, I can't read minds, but I'm fairly sure there's no fancying, either."

Ron just shrugged.

"Well, like I said," Dean went on. "You're friends. It's easy. You're bound to have fun. I mean, what can go wrong? You _know_ each other."

"Yeah, and, what's more, she already knows your dress robes, Ronniekins!" a rude voice that Ron recognized as George's called, followed by the sniggers of several people. Ron turned in his seat and saw the twins grinning nastily at him as they raced through the common room and then disappeared behind the door to the boys' dormitories.

Ron sank back into his armchair, utterly aghast. "Oh God, the dress robes," he whispered, feeling all color drain off his face. "I totally forgot about them. Merlin, how can I ever show myself in front of her, having that on, can you tell me that?"

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Dean reasoned. "It's always kind of awkward wearing dress robes."

"You haven't seen _mine_!" Ron groaned, shuddering at the mere thought of them. "They look like an effing girl dress, complete with frills and all!" He leant forward, burying his face in his hands. "It's horrible! I can't go with that abomination! I'd rather cancel on her and spend the day alone in the dorm! Everyone's gonna think I'm a complete idiot if they see me like that! I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the entire school!"

"Ron?" he heard a shaking voice right behind him.

He flinched and spun around. It was Hermione. Her face as white as a sheet and her lip was quivering ominously. Cold horror overcame him. How much had she heard?

* * *

Hermione was practically bouncing with joy as she made her way back to the common room. She had needed some time away from Ron to calm down and clear her fuzzy mind. Now, after more than one hour, she felt somewhat more composed, but she had been so elated earlier that it barely made a difference.

After giving the password to the Fat Lady, she climbed through the portrait hole, not surprised to find Ron and Harry still in the room, along with Dean. The three of them were so engrossed in their conversation that they took no notice of her as she drew nearer.

"...how can I ever show myself in front of her, having that on, can you tell me that?" Ron asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. Hermione furrowed her brow, wondering what he was talking about, but she did not dare to say anything just yet, somehow feeling that she would be intruding a private moment if she did otherwise.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Dean now said calmingly. "It's always kind of awkward wearing dress robes."

Hermione felt her face grow warm. Ron was talking about his dress robes. He was embarrassed of the prospect of wearing them in front of her. That was completely unnecessary, she thought tenderly, but nevertheless, she felt oddly flattered by how much he valued her opinion of him.

"You haven't seen _mine_! They look like an effing girl dress, complete with frills and all!" Ron lamented, propping his elbows onto his knees and placing his face into his palms. "It's horrible! I can't go with that abomination! I'd rather cancel on her and spend the night alone in the dorm! Everyone's gonna think I'm a complete idiot if they see me like that! I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the entire school!"

If Ron had not been speaking clearly, Hermione would have thought he was in tears. She felt like crying herself seeing him like that, so bad did she feel for him, knowing full well how much he hated being poor and possessing almost nothing but hand-me-downs and other things that he would refer to as 'rubbish'. It really was not needed, she thought to herself, but obviously, it did matter to _him_.

A plan was forming in her mind as she contemplated that. Not quite certain if it really was a good idea, she stepped right behind him, a big lump forming in her throat.

"Ron?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Ron turned his head to her. His eyes grew wide as he saw her and his face was worryingly ashen.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely.

"Could we go... over there?" she asked, nodding her head to a table near the wall that she thought was far enough from everyone so that they would not be overheard.

"Okay," Ron said after a moment of hesitation.

They both walked over to the table Hermione had indicated at and sat onto the couch behind it. Hermione drew a breath before she spoke. She had to be careful. Ron was so sensitive about his financial status - after all, he came from a family of nine that was living solely on the salary of a rather ill-paid Ministry employee and a bit of support from his oldest siblings whereas she was the only child of two dentists - one wrong word, and she would hurt him even more than he already was.

"Ron," she said softly, placing her hand on his forearm. "If you like... I could get you a new pair of dress robes."

She felt a pang of guilt as she said it. Surely Mrs. Weasley had only had her best interests at heart when she had bought Ron the robes he now had. They were probably the best the Weasleys could have come up with. They might even have been expensive for their standards. And now Ron might not even wear them because of her.

"You're _that_ ashamed of the sight of me, aren't you?" Ron mumbled dejectedly, leaning forward and staring at the floor through the gap between his knees. Hermione swallowed hard. She had expected him to react angrily, but not that. It was such a heart-wrenching sight that she was barely able to keep herself from lunging at him and taking him into her arms.

"No, I'm not," she said instead, so decisively that Ron actually lifted his head a bit and gave her an incredulous glance. "Listen, Ron," she elaborated, in a gentle tone again, taking the chance to look him in the eyes. "I asked you to the ball because you're the one I want to go with. I really couldn't care less of what you'll be wearing. For all I care, you could go in your Chudley Cannons pajamas and I still wouldn't mind because it's _you_."

She felt herself blush at being so honest to him and saw him turn red as well, but for some reason, it did not bother her right now.

"But see," she continued. "The entire... _situation_... will be awkward enough as it is what with all those formalities and things. I... I really hope we could have a fun night together, still, but I don't think you could possibly have any fun if you really feel that uncomfortable about your robes and then I think you shouldn't have to be wearing them."

"Still, you can't do that," Ron said numbly and turned even redder. "Those robes, they... well, you know... they are... they aren't... _cheap_..."

"That's all right," Hermione said softly. "I really want to do this for you, Ron, and I... I have saved up some money," she added, not certain whether or not she should make it sound as though accumulating the necessary gold had not been a big deal. "I really don't mind."

Ron smiled weakly but shook his head. "Hermione, I really appreciate your offer," he said, sounding pained. "But I can't accept that. It's too much."

"Well, fine," Hermione said, remembering how Harry had managed to endow Ron with the omniculars at the Quidditch World Cup. "Then how about this: I buy you the robes and you won't be getting any birthday and Christmas presents from me for the next ten years!"

There was a pause in which Ron studied Hermione's face while she tried her best to maintain an expression that was straight and warm at the same time.

"Twenty," he muttered eventually.

Hermione beamed at him.

"Okay, twenty it is," she said, grinning widely. "So I guess we have a deal then, right?"

She extended a hand before him. If possible, Ron's expression turned even more uneasy as he looked down at her hand, then briefly looked her in the eyes again and then lowered his gaze back to her hand.

"Deal," he then mumbled, taking it.


	3. Dress Robes

The Christmas holidays brought several benefits along with them, one of which being that all Hogwarts students were now free to visit Hogsmeade as they pleased. The village was not nearly as crowded as on a usual Hosmeade weekend but there were still numbers of students buzzing about for some last-minute Christmas shopping, a drink of butterbeer or just a change of scenery. The Hogsmeade branch of Gladrags Wizardwear, ran by none lesser than Gladrags founder Gladiola Ragstone herself, however, was gratefully empty as Hermione held yet another set of robes in front of herself.

"What about this?" she asked and Ron glanced at the ocean-blue fabric with a look of skepticism. "I think this would really bring out your eyes."

"I s'pose I need to ask mum how she's managed to possess your mind," Ron said, grimacing. "Did you know she's bought Harry green robes for that very reason?"

"It's not that much of a bad thing to base your choice of color on," Hermione replied and shrugged her shoulders.

"Does that mean you're going in brown?" Ron asked with a smirk.

"I've decided to keep that as a surprise for you," Hermione responded loftily.

"Not far!" Ron exclaimed. "You're getting to see my robes but you won't even tell me -"

"Now, will you try that on or what?" Hermione cut him off impatiently and thrust the robes into his arms.

With an irritated sigh, Ron climbed onto his stool for the fourth time this afternoon and allowed Gladiola, a tall middle-age witch with a knot of sleek graying black hair and several gemstone chains around her neck, to throw the robes over his head.

"Now, this is exactly your color, I would say," she said in a motherly voice that did not quite match her esoteric appearance after she had stepped back from Ron and examined him from top to toe. "Handsome. Very handsome. What do _you_ think, dear?" she asked, turned to Hermione.

Hermione smiled up at Ron who was standing on his stool, appearing a little overwhelmed by the attention he was given. She could only agree with Gladiola; he looked extremely good in these robes.

"I like it," she said. "What about you, Ron?"

Ron shrugged with one shoulder. "It's okay, I guess," he muttered.

"Splendid," Gladiola said, smiling. "Then let's have this pinned for you, shall we?"

Ron gave another half-shrug and Hermione nodded happily, stealing another glance up at him.

"Splendid," Gladiola said again, clapping her hands, and turned towards the counter where a heavily tattooed man in his early twenties with artfully spiked black and red hair stood behind the checkout, doodling on a piece of parchment.

"Gladwin," she called. "Come over here. Chop, chop!"

Looking up, the young man stopped doodling and shuffled over to them, hands in his pockets. Gladiola handed him a pin cushion and they both stepped next to Ron where, following her quiet instructions, Gladwin started to pin Ron's robes. Ron blushed, obviously uncomfortable of having the attention of yet another person directed at him and all of a sudden, Hermione realized that now that Gladiola had left her side, she was the only person who was openly looking at him. She quickly averted her gaze, looking at anything but Ron until, several minutes later, Gladiola spoke again.

"All done now, sweethearts," she said in the warm voice of hers. "Now, young man," she added to Ron. "Please turn around so we can have a full view."

She walked over to Hermione. Gladwin also took a few steps backwards and came to a halt in front of a clothes rail where he blended in oddly well with the black and red ready-made robes hanging behind him.

Ron blushed even more and judging by his expression, he was holding back a tart response that included a number of reasons why he would not do as he had been told. But he obliged and slowly turned on the spot, his face becoming redder and redder with every second. When he had made the full turn, facing them again, his face was of a more fiery shade than his hair.

Her hand lifted to her mouth, Hermione giggled quietly to herself as she watched him. He was looking absolutely mortified and absolutely adorable.

"Well?" Gladiola asked expectantly.

"It's perfect," Hermione whispered.

Gladiola gave her a motherly smile. "I'll say," she agreed and, lowering her voice so that only Hermione could hear her, she added, "He can consider himself lucky to have a _girlfriend_ with a good eye like yours. Boys that age usually have a terrible sense of fashion. Mark my words, dear, sometimes, I think that men would be completely lost without us women."

And with that, she strode back to Ron, leaving behind a cringing Hermione. The moment Gladiola had pulled his new robes over his head, Ron immediately jumped off his stool with visible relief. She then spread the robes out on a low table right next to the stool. Gladwin stepped out of the shadows to join her and with a few taps of her wand, she adjusted the robes to Ron's measures while quietly explaining to her trainee the spells that she used.

"I assume this is for the Hogwarts Yule Ball, isn't it?" she asked, briefly interrupting her work as Ron and Hermione had stepped to her side.

"Yes, it is," Hermione said, feeling her face heat up.

"M-hmm," Gladiola said with a nod and winked at her knowingly. Hermione's face grew even warmer.

"Just ignore 'er," Gladwin said under his breath when her work was done and they all walked over to the checkout. "She always gets all sentimental 'bout stuff like that. Seriously, whatever you do, never, I repeat, _never _watch a love flick with 'er."

Ron let out a strange strangled sound that caused Hermione to roll her eyes.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Ron," she hissed, so quietly that only he could hear her while Gladwin veered to help another costumer who was struggling with the large, dangerously swaying pile of robes in her arms. "Get your mind out of the gutter. Isn't it obvious that they're mother and son?"

They had now arrived at the counter where Gladiola was already busy wrapping Ron's robes into a large sheet of thick brown paper. From up close, Hermione saw that Gladwin's doodle was a drawing of a dress that he had apparently designed. She heard Ron uneasily shuffle his feet behind her as she placed eight Galleons, three Sickles and five Knuts onto the counter.

"Have a pleasant rest of day, you two," Gladiola said merrily as Hermione picked up the bundle. "And a very special ball night, as well!"

"Thank you," Hermione replied breathlessly and Ron nodded curtly.

"Wow, that was awkward," Ron muttered, rubbing his neck, once they had stepped out of the shop and the door had fallen shut behind them.

Hermione turned towards him. He was still rather pink in the cheeks and looked very self-conscious. At this sight, a surge of affection ran through her and it was so irresistible that she just could not help herself. She flung her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly to herself.

"W-what was that for?" Ron asked in a voice that was somewhat higher than usual when she released him.

"The look on your face," she said, giggling lightly. Ron blinked with confusion and she felt her face burn in a dreadful manner. "I'm just... sorry," she added, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, and turned back towards the street, carefully avoiding to look at him as they continued to walk.

Her heart madly hammering against her chest and her insides squirming uncomfortably, Hermione bit her lip, ashamed of her display of affection. She had almost told Ron to the face that he looked cute! God, she could just as well have told him that she was in love with him, couldn't she, and what would that have been good for except for scaring him away, now that she had already gotten so far with him?

"This still doesn't feel right," Ron mumbled a few minutes later, waking her from her reverie.

"What do you mean?" she asked thickly.

"Well, _this_," Ron said, gesticulating dramatically in front of himself which Hermione did not find nearly as helpful as he apparently thought it was. "I mean, _I_ am the bloke! If anything, _I_ should buy _you_ stuff!"

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "I take it the concept of feminism hasn't yet made it to the wondrous world of Ronald Weasley, has it?" she asked but still smiled. But when he still looked uncomfortable, she added, "Look, I've told you I didn't mind doing this and I still don't. It's all good. But... but if it means so much to you, maybe you could invite me to a butterbeer."

Ron studied her face for a moment and then half shrugged, half nodded.

"Okay," he mumbled. And, looking down at the bundle in Hermione's hands, he added hastily, "Let me take that, too."

Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bundle away from her, tucked it under his arm and buried his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"It's the least that I can do, I guess," he said, still mumbling.

"You don't owe me anything, you know that," Hermione said quietly as the pair of them steered towards The Three Broomsticks.

"Yes, I _do_," Ron insisted and Hermione decided not to press the subject any further.

Eventually, they arrived in the pub that was packed with students and appeared warmer than usual. The scent of cinnamon and fir lay in the air. They choose a table for two near the bar where Madam Rosmerta, who was wearing a Father Christmas hat and a red and white apron, was tending to her costumers. Ever so wary, Hermione walked over to the chair facing the bar, leaving the one facing away from it for Ron, and started to take off her coat.

"Hold on," Ron said hurriedly and she turned towards him and watched, one brow raised, how he quickly strode around the table, unceremoniously thrusting his robes onto its top, and stepped behind her to help her out of her coat.

"Ron, you don't have to-" she started, feeling half embarrassed, half flattered, but he did not say anything in response as he carefully took the coat off her, hung it over the backrest of her chair and then pulled out the chair for her.

"Thanks," she said in wonder, staring up at him and slowly sitting down.

"No problem," he responded. "Well... I'm getting us some drinks, okay?"

Hermione nodded and Ron walked over to the bar from which he returned a few minutes later with two bottles of butterbeer in his hands and an odd expression on his face. Hermione suddenly felt very glad about her choice of seat.

She was relieved that their conversation slowly turned to normal as they were sitting there, enjoying the atmosphere and their butterbeers and talked about their relief at the end of term, cracked jokes about Malfoy, laughed at the prospect of seeing certain teachers and fellow students dressed up and dancing and speculated about who would go to the ball with whom which resulted in the creation of the craziest pairs, involving Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and the Giant Squid.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Yeah, Gladwin and Gladiola Ragstone. Now you've met two more of the Hogsmeade people. Not exactly my proudest piece of writing, to be honest. I cannot count how often I have written and re-written their parts. Ugh. I hope you liked this chapter, though. Reviews are appreciated!  
**


	4. Getting Ready

"Take _that_, you ugly wart!"

Furiously shaking his head and spitting snow, Ron crouched down, scooped up a handful of snow, formed it into a solid ball and threw it hard at Harry who had gotten him fully in the face seconds before. It missed. At a few feet's distance, Hermione was shaking with laughs of schadenfreude.

"Oh, you think that's funny, huh?" Ron called and bolted towards her. She emitted a shriek, taken aback by his sudden move, and started to run for it, but she had only managed a couple of feet when Ron caught up with her, pulled her into a headlock and shoved another handful of snow into the neck of her collar. He watched with vicious satisfaction as the white cold substance slid into her coat and she shrieked again, this time at the sensation of it.

"Ron, I... I need to go," she said, panting heavily.

"Huh?" he replied with surprise and subconsciously loosened his hold on her, instantly regretting it. She broke free and walked a few steps away from him. Great, he thought, now he had opened the doors to revenge for her.

But to his astonishment, she did not do any such thing.

"I really have to go inside," she insisted and checked her watch and her eyes widened in shock. "Merlin's beard, it's that late! I'd planned to go half an hour ago!"

"Listen, Hermione," Ron said, making a tentative step towards her. It was obvious to him that she wanted to leave because he had upset her, but why was she putting on such a show now instead of just yelling at him or something? "I know I probably went too far and I'm sorry. Please don't-"

"What?" Hermione said. "No, it's not that. I... I need to go inside because..." Her face took on a deeper shade of pink. "I need to start preparing for the ball."

"_Preparing? Now?_" Ron spluttered incredulously. "But it's still-" he looked down at his own watch. "It's still two and a half hours! What the hell do you need _two and a half hours_ for?"

But Hermione had already started to make it to the castle and did not respond to him.

_"Two and a half hours_," Ron yelped, feeling thoroughly distraught. "Blimey, does she expect _me_ to need two and a half hours, too?"

"Nah, I wouldn't bother if I were you," Fred called from somewhere behind him. "Two and a half hours are nowhere near enough to wipe that look of a decuman dork off your face!"

Feeling livid, Ron whipped around and right at that moment, a snowball hit him square in the ear. "Hey!" he exclaimed indignantly and started to chase Fred all over the grounds.

* * *

It was no sooner than one hour before the start of the ball that the boys walked back to their dormitories. Dean, Seamus and Neville were already there when Ron and Harry arrived, donning their dress robes and tending to their hair, all with very embarrassed expressions etched on their faces. Ron pulled his new robes out of his trunk, suddenly feeling very grateful that Hermione had bought them for him; the thought of putting on his second-hand dresslike robes in front of his roommates was nothing short of torture.

He felt clammy with sweat and snow, so he went into the bathroom for a quick shower and dressed into his robes there. When he walked out again, he wished he had not as the creaking bathroom door made an unwelcome announcement of his reappearance to the others, who, of course, all turned to him and he felt as if a gleaming spotlight was directed right at him.

"Nice robes, Ron," Neville said. "What did you do with those you had on the train?"

"Saving 'em for the next '70s party," Ron muttered darkly. "1570s, that it."

He could have sworn that he had received a knowing smile from Dean and feeling even more uncomfortable, he walked over to the nearest mirror to take care of his hair. In the meantime, Neville had gratefully directed his attention to Seamus.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked.

"That?" Seamus replied. "That's hair gel. Really Neville, have you been living under a rock?"

"Nah, just among the elderly who still think it's the nineteenth century," Neville said glumly.

"Well," Seamus said and he and his spiked hair reappeared in Ron's field of vision as he walked over to the door. "You can take some if you like," he said with a shrug. "Anyway, I've gotta fetch Lavender. You coming, Dean?"

"Aye," Dean said and together, the two of them scurried out of the room.

Both Ron and Neville leant over and cast a wary glance at the little pot of Rocksteady's Super-Fast Drying Hair Styling Gel on Seamus' nightstand.

"Urgh, no, thanks," Neville muttered with an expression as if someone had just suggested to him to have a drink of bubotuber pus, and he left the room as well.

But after a moment of hesitation, Ron dunked a brave hand into the pot, scooped up some hair gel and worked it into his fringe. An expression of absolute appall distorted his features when he looked into the mirror - his hair was now sticking up straight, making him look more than ever as if his head was topped by a crown of flames. He frantically slapped down his fringe but it stubbornly remained standing on end as if mocking him. He cast a desperate glance at his watch and his stomach lurched with horror as he realized that it was too late to take another shower.

"I think we should get going," Harry said a few minutes later without real conviction, his expression conveying both sympathy and an enormous effort trying not to laugh out loud.

His insides burned even more at the prospect of facing Hermione looking like that, but with a great sigh, Ron nonetheless resigned himself to his fate and hesitantly followed Harry down to the common room where Harry would meet Parvati, the girl he had asked when he had - to his dismay - learned that Cho would be going with Cedric Diggory.

Parvati was already waiting by the foot of the stairs to the boys' dormitories when they arrived, clad in glaring pink dress robes; her long black hair was streaked by golden strands and she was wearing several braces of the same color on her wrists and a hint of make-up. It all suited her rather well.

"You - er - look nice," _[1] _Harry stammered, his face flushing.

"Thanks," Parvati said, beaming at him and, turning to Ron, she added, "Hermione's still upstairs, but she said she's coming in a few minutes."

Ron nodded. His mind was suddenly feeling strangely blank.

"Listen Harry," Parvati said. "Do you mind if we go downstairs already? Padma's going with a guy from Beauxbatons and I haven't seen him yet."

Ron's retort that Parvati still had plenty of time to see Mister Mysterious Stranger during the ball caught in his throat where a large lump was forming. Instead, he simply gave a wordless shrug as Harry cast him a questioning look.

"Okay," Harry said meekly to Parvati and, linking arms, the two of them set off to the portrait hole. Before they clambered out of the common room, Harry turned his head back to Ron and gave a feeble apologetic smile.

And then they were gone.

The anticipation was unnerving as Ron stood left by himself in the common room waiting for Hermione. His heart seemed to beat somewhere near the newly formed lump in his throat and his hands prickled uncomfortably as they grew numb. He had no idea why he was so nervous. _'She's your friend,'_ he thought to himself. _'She's your friend, nothing more. No need to get so worked up about this!'_

He let his eyes wander around the room. As far as he could tell, all the other students waiting with him were older than him. Near the fireplace, a boy from seventh year was enthusiastically greeted by what could only be his girlfriend. The boy produced a single rose out of thin air and offered it to her and she emitted a squeal and hugged him tightly around his neck. For some reason, this sight made Ron's insides squirm.

"Ron!" he suddenly heard Hermione's voice call and he spun around. However, the only person looking into his direction was a very gorgeous girl in periwinkle blue dress robes who was walking up to him. His mouth fell open.

Ron had finally come to admit to himself that he found Hermione to be a pleasant sight, but her current appearance completely threw him. Her dress robes accentuated her curves in all the right places (Ron inwardly slapped himself for thinking about Hermione's _curves_ - he had never fully realized that she was growing into a woman - neither her Hogwarts robes nor her casual clothes had ever given away as much), she was wearing high heels which not only made her somewhat taller but also changed the way she walked, more gracious and elegant, and, like Parvati, she had put on a modest amount of make-up, though Ron found that this was not really needed. But most prominent was her hair. It was no longer curly as usual. Somehow, Hermione had managed to straighten it; now it was now sleek and shiny and to add to the different look, she had also pinned it up. It was a nice sort of diversion, Ron thought, but all the same, he found that it lacked something. Somehow, it did not look as interesting as it normally did.

Ron gave a start as he became aware of this train of thought of his. Had he just thought of his best friend's hair as _interesting_? Where had _that_ come from? Did he find _Harry's_ hair interesting as well? No, he thought to himself, more as if he used a pitchfork for a comb. But, granted, there _was_ some fascination in how it always looked like that despite his constant efforts to keep it smooth.

"Hey," Hermione said nervously, drawing Ron's attention back to her presence.

"Wow, you look..." Ron spluttered, searching for words that could do justice to his thoughts. "You look amazing!"

"Thanks," Hermione replied and her a light blush graced her cheeks. "I'm glad you like it."

She smiled brightly up at him and then elegantly turned on the spot, giving him a full view of herself.

If his jaw had not been attached to his head, Ron was certain that it would have dropped to the floor. Why was she doing this to him, teasing him like that? She was looking absolutely breathtaking; he was not even sure if Fleur could compare with her beauty tonight. All the same, he suddenly felt horribly plain. She had gone at such great lengths for him and all that he had done was putting on his dress robes and giving himself a hairdo that made him look like an absolute tit. He wished he knew the charm to conjure flowers.

"You don't look half bad, either," she said after she had turned to face him again.

She stepped closer to him and he caught a whiff of perfume. He started to tremble. His breath grew shallow. She was standing much too close for his liking right now.

"You've gelled your hair," she said softly, still smiling. Ron wondered if she was trying to bite back a laugh but then she stood on tiptoe and gently patted his spiked-up fringe. He closed his eyes. A shiver ran down his spine at her touch.

"I like it," she added.

"Really?" Ron asked thickly and opened his eyes. Somehow, he could not help thinking that Hermione was just too gentle to tell him that he looked ridiculous, considering that that was what he thought himself. But she nodded to him, biting her lip.

"Thanks," Ron mumbled in response, feeling slightly better about himself.

There was a pause of awkward silence in which neither Ron nor Hermione did anything except for smiling nervously at each other. Ron very much wanted to say something funny or interesting or at least something that was not completely daft, but he found that the lump in his throat was hindering him from producing any more speech. On second thought, he realized that he had no idea what to say anyway. But much to his relief, it was Hermione who broke the silence eventually.

"Well, shall we?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah, right," Ron spluttered.

Remembering how Harry and Parvati had exited the common room, he offered his arm to Hermione, feeling rather silly as he did. With a warm smile up to him, she took it and they both walked down to the Great Hall.

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Signature Edition, p. 450 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_


	5. Two Encounters of the Unwanted Kind

The Entrance Hall was teeming with hundreds and hundreds of students along with several teachers who were struggling to keep tabs on the masses when Ron and Hermione arrived. It did not take a Hermione Granger to figure out the reason why: the winged doors leading to the Great Hall were still closed.

"I guess they won't open before eight," Hermione mused.

"Yeah," Ron replied. He could only imagine the tohobohu when, at eight, everyone would try to get in first in order to secure the best seats - those nearest to the stage where The Weird Sisters would perform, if one could believe the rumors. Ron could not help but chuckle as he pictured Ginny dragging poor Neville after herself whose plump built and short legs would probably not allow him to keep pace with her - Ginny was a huge fan of the Sisters.

Speaking of Ginny...

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to peer over the heads of the students in front of him. Thank God for a change that he was so tall for his age. But Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"I don't know," Hermione said, mirroring Ron's action which, due to her being almost one whole head shorter than him, was perfectly useless.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here," Ron suddenly heard a cool voice drawl to his left. "The Weasel and the Mudblood!"

Ron whirled around and promptly came face to face with Malfoy who had his arm linked with that of Pansy Parkinson, his gaggle of Slytherin friends standing behind him.

"Merlin, you must be really desperate, mustn't you, Weasley," Malfoy jeered, tilting his head to Hermione. "If you have to go with _that_ little piece of dirt."

"You-" Ron growled, hearing his blood singe in his ears, and lunged at Malfoy while Pansy let out a stupid mirthful shriek. But before his fists could reach him, he was held back by two hands gripping his upper arms from behind.

"No, Ron, don't," Hermione whispered urgently and when Ron turned his head, he saw that it was her who was holding him with surprising strength considering her size.

"_'No, Ron, don't',_" Malfoy aped her, using a horribly shrill high-pitched voice, and let out a small derisive chuckle whilst the Slytherins around him roared with laughter. "You better listen to your Mudblood _girlfriend_, Weasel Bee," he continued and more guffaws ensued. "But it looks like she has you under her filthy thumb anyway."

"Pathetic," he quietly added to the other Slytherins, chuckling again, and with a last dismissive glance at Ron and Hermione, he strode away, his entourage in tow.

"Ron, have you completely _lost_ it?" Hermione chided, her face scarlet with anger, once the Slytherins were out of earshot. "The hall's full of teachers. You'd've gotten so into trouble if you'd attacked Malfoy!"

"But I couldn't let him call you-" Ron started heatedly. His heart was still pounding wildly in his chest with suppressed rage.

"Yeah, but still," Hermione interrupted him, smiling weakly. "You'd've gotten into detention if you'd done anything. You wouldn't have any witness but me for him saying those things but if you'd beaten him up, _everyone_ would've seen."

"That's not fair," Ron said miserably.

"No, it's not," Hermione said and placed a warm gentle hand on his arm which instantly placated him. "But these are the rules. And I'm not worth getting you into trouble."

Ron stared at her in disbelief. Why did she think that little of herself? _Of course_, she was worth it! She was his best friend, dammit!

"Yes, you _are_," Ron said emphatically and Hermione blushed even more, giving him an odd sort of look that turned into a warm smile.

"Thanks," she said.

"No prob-" Ron started but he was ungently cut off by an elbow that hit him hard in the back.

Before he could shout at whoever had had the nerve to push him like that, however, he heard a loud squeal behind him.

"Krum! It's Krum!"

Ron's head instantly whipped around.

"Whoa!" he hollered excitedly and, like everyone else in the hall, watched in awe as the Durmstrang students, led by their headmaster, Karkaroff, entered the hall. The crowd inside became tighter as everyone pushed forward, trying to get a glimpse of Krum.

"Hermione, c'mon, it's Krum!" Ron called but, unbelievably, Hermione appeared to be completely unaffected by the appearance of the Quidditch star. Ron just shrugged off this behavior of hers - What was it with girls and Quidditch? - and continued to rapturously watch as Krum and his fellow students kept following Karkaroff until he, Ron, could no longer see him. Ron noticed that all the while, Krum was just staring ahead as though he was wholly unaware of the commotion, but Karkaroff was having a smug smirk plastered on his face as he walked, running a finger over the pointed beard on his chin.

"Champions over here, please!" _[1] _McGonagall's voice suddenly came booming from the direction of the winged doors and it gained the attention of every single student like a particular loud firecracker explosion. The crowd parted, forming four paths for the champions and their partners leading up to McGonagall. Fleur and her partner, Roger Davies from Ravenclaw, were walking close to Ron and Hermione, and Ron apprehensively held his breath, but for some reason, Fleur did not have the embarrassing effect on him that she normally had and with relief, he exhaled once she had passed by.

A few minutes later, the crowd started to move; apparently, the champions had made their way to McGonagall and everyone was now free to enter the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione followed the masses and when they drew nearer, they found Harry and Parvati standing with McGonagall and the other champions to the right of the winged doors.

"Hey," Ron said quietly as they walked past him. He found it rather strange that Harry would not be going with them.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione said and lightly patted his shoulder.

Harry did not respond. He simply nodded, looking somewhat green in the face.

The Great Hall had changed considerably since they had left it after lunch earlier today. Ron actually had to do a double-take to make sure he was seeing correctly. Not only had the - already enormous - amount of Christmas decorations been increased, but the house tables had also been replaced by what must have been roughly one hundred round tables, each for at least ten, lamps on whose tops illuminating the hall in addition to the usual floating candles.

Ron and Hermione chose a table near the middle of the hall. Ron let his gaze wander, taking in the atmosphere and watching how more and more students filed inside and settled down, the different colors of their robes as opposed to the usual black adding to the warmth and excitement he was feeling. Then, all of a sudden, he realized that the ball was starting now. He could not tell why it hit him so hard that moment; he had known about the ball for days, had been spending what must have been a quarter of an hour in the waiting crowd, but now that he was sitting here in the Great Hall, clad in his dress robes and with Hermione by his side, he became aware that this was the beginning. The beginning of his evening with Hermione. The next moment he wondered why he was feeling so weird about this. It was not like he had not had spent countless evenings with her before, so what the hell was the problem _now_?

A gentle nudge in his ribs made Ron's mind snap back.

"Ron," Hermione breathed. "Is that _Percy_ over there?"

She pointed a finger at the podium where the judges were sitting around a large round table. And indeed - there was Percy. Even from the distance, this look of fathomless smugness was unmistakable.

"You're right," Ron said, frowning. "What's he doing here?"

"You don't know? Hasn't he written to you?"

"No, I haven't heard from him at all since we left for Hogwarts."

"This is weird," Hermione said, craning her neck and scanning the podium table. "Hmm... I think Crouch is missing. Could Percy be covering for him?"

"Must be, I guess," Ron said, shrugging. "I mean, He's working for him."

"Hmm..."

But before they could delve further into the subject of Percy's unexpected visit, silence descended on the hall as Dumbledore rose from his chair on the podium table, smiling broadly at the masses before him.

"Welcome everybody," he said in a loud carrying voice. "Welcome students! Welcome guests!" He nodded to the podium table where, along with the other Triwizard judges, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff were sitting. "Welcome to the Yule Ball, which, as you all know, is a traditional part of the Triwizard festivities that the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is proudly hosting this year."

"I know that all of you have long anticipated tonight and this glorious opportunity to - as the phrase goes - _live it up_, and I am not going to waste your time with long-winded speeches. Just allow me to make a few announcements: In a few minutes' time, this night commences with the entry of our..." Dumbledore's long beard briefly twitched. "..._four_ Triwizard champions and their partners. You will then have the opportunity to fortify yourselves through meat and drink before the champions officially open the ball with the first dance. To obtain your meal, simply name to your plate your choice from our rich international selection of dishes that you can view in the menus on your table. Our musical entertainment will be ensured tonight - and I am certain that you all will be delighted - by the popular wizard band The Weird Sisters."

At these last words of his, a roaring wave of applause and cries of joy surged up. Dumbledore wisely halted his speech for a few moments but then wordlessly raised a hand and the room fell silent again.

"Now that everything that has to be said _has_ been said," he continued. "Please enjoy this night and this chance to celebrate, to get to know each other better and to make new friends. And now, without further digress, let us welcome our Triwizard champions!"

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Signature Edition, p. 451 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_


	6. Competition

A loud fanfare resonated in the hall and it seemed to come out of its very walls, as the winged doors swung open and McGonagall entered, the champions and their partners in her wake. All eyes immediately turned to them and amidst applause and whistles, as thunderous as when Dumbledore had mentioned The Weird Sisters, they slowly walked through the length of the hall, heading straight for the table on the podium where they would apparently be sitting throughout the ball. Ron suddenly felt very small and insignificant amidst the clutch of ordinary students as he watched Harry who was walking behind Krum. There were his best mate and his Quidditch hero and the two of them were considered equal...

"He really looks uncomfortable," Hermione said quietly. "Harry," she elaborated when Ron cast her a quizzical look. "I mean, _look_ at him. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but there."

"But why would he?" Ron asked uncomprehendingly. "He should be happy, it must be cool being a champion." What wouldn't _he_, Ron, give for being in Harry's place, recognized and celebrated by the entire school and being so close to Krum, perhaps even having a chance of talking to him up on the podium table...

"Ron, don't you see?" Hermione sighed. "He never wanted all this. He never wanted to be a champion. He never wanted to compete with students who are all older and more experienced than him. I think - I _know_ - he sees more _pressure_ in this than anything. And don't forget, it only adds to all the attention he's got already."

"Well, one should think he'd be getting used to that and start seeing the fun side of it," Ron mumbled. Pressure sounded to him like an acceptable price for being shown so much interest.

"Not if he hadn't _chosen_ to become famous, then not," Hermione said unwaveringly. "He's never been a normal kid ever since he came into the wizarding world. He's always been singled out one way or another and he's never really had any peace and quiet." She sighed again and added, "I'm sure he'd give anything to sit here with us instead. I know _I_ prefer being here with you."

Ron had been glumly watching how the champions were taking their seats at the podium table when she had said that. He was convinced that she had only done it to make him feel better. How could she possibly prefer being down here with him, being nothing but one of many, instead of spending the night with all those important and interesting personalities up on the podium (Percy aside)? But when he felt her gaze linger on him, he slowly turned to face her, and he had to swallow. She was smiling warmly at him, something like tenderness lying in her gaze, and something about it told Ron that she had truly meant what she had said. And, all of a sudden, there was this squirming sensation again that he had felt up in the common room when he had watched the couple by the fireplace.

Trying to divert his thoughts from this unwelcome memory, he pulled a menu to himself and skimmed through it. Dumbledore had not exaggerated - it was full of exotic-sounding dishes, some of which Ron had never even heard of before. He remembered that Dobby had told Harry and him that the house elves had already started to prepare those meals early in the morning. He was about to ask Hermione how she was feeling about this, but quickly refrained from doing so. He really did not want to sit through another lecture on SPEW. Not tonight.

Dinner was a rather silent affair and Ron was grateful for that because he needed his concentration for psyching himself up for the inevitable - the dance. He was not sure if he should be looking forward to it or not. The prospect of dancing with Hermione was both exciting and scary at the same time. Part of him was very keen of it, but it could not compete with the voice in his head that was practically screaming at him that he would make a complete fool of himself. He was a lousy dancer, there was no denying it, and it would not only be himself whom he would embarrass in front of the entire school, but also Hermione.

And then, Dumbledore stood up again and asked the students to emulate his deed. And when everyone was on their feet, he swung his wand without any further announcement all tables rose a few inches and soared to the walls.

Ron was wholly taken aback by this sudden change of scene and with his mouth hanging open, he gaped at the spot where their table had stood just a few seconds before. Without it between himself and Hermione, he suddenly felt very unguarded, and with dread, he realized that he was now standing right in the middle of what must have become the dance floor.

His horror was so complete that it drowned all his thinking, making all his gathered courage vanish into nothingness, and he found himself incapable of doing anything but numbly watch whilst around him, hell broke loose as The Weird Sisters seized the stage that Dumbledore had conjured. And as if to just put a cherry on top of this cake of dreadfulness, the table lamps turned off, leaving the floating candles as the only light source, which, however, had been toned down considerably so that they bathed the hall in a dim, creepily romantic light.

Now the champions entered the dance floor. With a pang of sympathy, Ron noted that Harry looked just as uncomfortable as he, Ron, felt. It did not surprise him in the least; everyone in the hall was watching him dance. Ron thought that had he been in Harry's place, he would have long died with mortification. Perhaps Hermione was right after all.

Thinking of Hermione, however, only made his thoughts return to his own messy situation. She was intently gazing at the dance floor, watching the champions with a curious sort of smile on her lips. With some discomfort, Ron noted that there was some stirring around him. Some of the other students were retreating to the tables, but many - _damn many_ - joined the champions to the dance floor.

He still was not sure if he truly wanted to dance with Hermione. Did he really want to impose his lanky awkward self on her like that? Thinking about it, he was not even certain if _she_ wanted to dance at all. She had never seemed to be the sort of person who was much into such things like dancing. But then again, he had never imagined it possible that she would ever dress up like she had tonight. She was always so unpredictable, full of surprises. Normally, he liked this thing about her, but right now, he wished that she would make it a little easier for him. By asking _him_ for a dance, for instance - if _she_ had taken the initiative, he would have gone with her without hesitation. But, no_,_ now of all times, she seemed to have thrown all feminism to the winds, apparently expecting _him_ to make the first move.

"Why did Dumbledore have to remove the tables? I still wanted another helping of dessert!" Ron said, completely playing for time, forcing his voice into a tone that he hoped was conveying a believable degree of indignation.

Hermione looked at him, raising a brow. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, c'mon," Ron prodded. "Let's sit down, okay? I'm a growing boy who needs to eat!"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Hermione turned away from the dance floor and followed Ron to a nearby table where he had no choice but to order more dessert for himself, although he really was not hungry at all. At least the chocolate sundae in front of him gave him something to do and soothed his nerves, albeit the unnecessary extra amount of food added to the queasiness that he had already been feeling.

But, then, to his immense relief, Harry and Parvati came fighting their way through the crowd and sat with them.

"How's it going?" _[1] _Harry asked and opened the bottle of butterbeer that he had brought. "Hey, you've got some ice cream," he then said a little too brightly, pointing at Ron's half-eaten sundae. "That's a brilliant idea, I've got to have some, too. After, well... After this," he added, raising his butterbeer and downing half the bottle in one go.

Ron smiled weakly. It was as plain as the scar on his forehead that Harry was relieved to not have to dance any longer and he understood it all too well. Parvati, however, was a completely different story. She looked utterly put out and it could not have been clearer that she had not wanted to be sitting here. She was frowning, no doubt because Harry was not treating her like she had expected, but her look was predominantly one of great longing as she stared at the dance floor, humming quietly along with the song that the Sisters were now playing.

And his stomach clenched painfully when he saw that exactly same look on Hermione's face. She, too, was yearningly gazing at the dance floor, unconsciously nodding her head to the rhythm of the music. It was more than obvious that she _did_ want to dance.

Ron sighed, turning his gaze to the dance floor himself. There were Seamus and Lavender who were merrily chatting and laughing while they casually moved on the floor. There was Hagrid who was spinning around Madame Maxime, making everyone in their vicinity run for cover. Dammit, even _Percy_ was there, dancing with Professor Sinistra, though he was avidly talking with Bagman while he danced, and Bagman, in turn, was waltzing with Professor Sprout who appeared rather enthusiastic about the music. It looked so simple for them all, so carefree, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Why couldn't it be like that for _him_, too?

_'C'mon, just _do_ it,'_ Ron spurred himself on. '_What's so hard about this? Just get over your pathetic self and bloody _ask_ her! It's only a few little words! Now, c'mon, be a man about it!'_

But just when the words had formed in his head and he had opened his mouth to speak them out, he heard a deep low voice right behind him.

"Vill you allow me, beautiful lady?"

Ron turned in his seat to see who had talked and almost got a heart attack. There he was, Krum, the international Quidditch star, the hero from the World Cup, barely one foot away from him, and he was talking to - _Hermione?_

Well, it did not matter. The mere fact that he was standing here with them was exciting enough. Ron just stared at him with fascination, thoroughly forgetting to look all cool and composed. Krum and Hermione exchanged a few words that Ron did not care to listen to but all too soon, Krum retreated, looking oddly crestfallen, and Ron followed him with his eyes until he disappeared in the crowd.

Vowing to himself to never wash his eyes again, Ron happily settled back in his chair.

"Wow, isn't he just great?" he asked blissfully, but as his gaze fell on Harry and Parvati, he could not help snorting loudly. Both their faces were bearing rather comical expressions; they looked as if a ghost had just walked through them.

"And to think that _I_ am the Krum fan here," he laughed. "Yeah, I know, he's just the best, isn't he? Blimey, I can't believe that he has really come and talked to us..."

It was Parvati who came to her senses first.

"Erm, Ron...," she said tentatively. "Haven't you heard what they said?"

"Um, no," Ron admitted and frowned with bewilderment. "Should I?"

"I'll say," Parvarti breathed in awe, throwing a fleeting glance at Hermione, who, however did not show any sign of reaction which Parvati apparently took as permission to keep talking. "Krum asked... asked Hermione for a dance and she declined and said that... you were her... _boyfriend_."

Ron practically felt how the blood shot into his face while in his head, a wild jumble of emotions were competing for the upper hand. Confusion, shock, lightheadedness and a strange sort of pride were all washing over him at once, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized that his hand was resting on the table with Hermione's on top of it. He had no idea when that had happened. And as though on cue, Hermione quickly pulled it away. Swallowing hard, he looked up at her. She was biting her lip with obvious embarrassment and her face was a violent shade of red.

"Y-you did?" Ron asked lamely, too floored to form any longer coherent sentence or simply think of anything else to say.

"Well, yes," Hermione said, her voice strangely calm considering her deep blush. "He'd been prowling around in the library whenever I'd been there in the last two weeks, it was a bit creepy, actually - no, he's never done anything weird," she added when Ron looked worried. "But in the end, he asked me to come to the ball with him and I told him that I was already taken..." she cast a little smile at Ron and continued, "I can't believe that he's still tried. I thought I had made it clear to him that I wasn't interested!"

"But it was Krum, Hermione!" Ron spluttered, still trying to sort his thoughts. "_Krum!_"

"So _what_?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding frustrated. "What is it with Krum anyway? He seems like a nice enough person, all right, but I don't understand all the fuss about him. I highly doubt that people would be just as interested in him if he wasn't famous and all!"

At these words, Harry hastily grabbed a menu and started to flip through it, holding it in front of himself so that his face could not be seen.

"But-" Ron started but Hermione cut him off.

"Seriously, Ron," she said, turning in her chair and fully facing him. "Would you have preferred if I'd danced with Krum?"

"Well, no," Ron muttered, feeling dazed. "But... but..." he continued and his eyes grew wide as suddenly, realization hit him, hard. "But... are you saying that... that you'd rather dance with _me_... than with _Krum_...?"

Hermione nodded and at that moment, all thinking ceased. His mind, his body, both went numb. His heart was hammering so violently that the sound of its beat in his ears even drowned out the music.

It was impossible. It did not make any sense. It could not be. Hermione was preferring _him_, Ron Weasley, the meager fourteen year old nobody, over somebody as mature, famous, rich, talented and well-respected as _Viktor bloody Krum_!

"Then c'mon," he said fiercely, jumping to his feet and gripping her hand, a feat that he knew he would not have been able to pull had he been thinking clearly, but he could not care less right now. Hermione gently enclosed his hand with her smaller one and stood up as well, smiling brightly, and he led her through the masses onto the dance floor.

However, when they had found some space for themselves on the dance floor, Ron's adrenaline rush had already abated significantly and now he was painfully aware that he _had_ to dance, even though he had no idea how to. But there was no turning back anymore.

Luckily, the current song was a rather upbeat one that, judging by the fact that there were barely two pairs who were dancing in the same fashion, did not seem to require any particular steps. So, randomly copying moves from the people nearest them, Ron started to dance, feeling extremely silly, and tried not to think about how ridiculous he must be looking.

But then his gaze fell on Hermione who was dancing next to him with much more gracefulness, her eyes shining and the soft light of the floating candles gilding her hair. She looked incredibly beautiful as she danced, and _happy_, the bright smile she had shown him earlier still on her lips. For a short moment, their eyes met and both blushed even more and quickly looked away, but she was still smiling, and so did he, coming to the decision that as long as she was happy, it did not matter to him if he made a fool of himself. She was more important than him.

They made it through the current song, and then through the next one, and the one after that. Ron could not tell how long they had been dancing; he had entirely lost track of time. To his great relief, he felt increasingly more at ease the longer they danced and he was just starting to actually enjoy himself when the Sisters stroke up another song and the air suddenly felt thicker as the hall was filled with a different tune, one of a love ballad.

* * *

_[1] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Signature Edition, p. 459 © 2010 J.K. Rowling_


	7. And Realization Sets In

Both Ron and Hermione instantly took a step backwards, increasing the distance between them.

"Erm-" Hermione started, feeling her heart pound somewhere near her throat and directing her gaze to a point beside Ron's right elbow. Her insides twisted as she noted that many pairs were now walking from the dance floor, leaving behind only what appeared to be actual couples who were now embracing each other and started to slow dance.

"Well..." Ron said, attempting but gloriously failing to appear nonchalant. "Well... If you... I mean, d-do you want to?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She could not believe her ears. Had Ron really just asked her if she wanted to dance with him to this sort of song, just like the other pairs on the dance floor? This had to be too good to be true. She half assumed that Ron was, in fact, playing a prank on her. That at least would have been more like him than _this_. Of course, had she have to predict his reaction to this sort of music, she would have guessed that he would have immediately run off the dance floor with revulsion.

"Um, I wouldn't mind," Hermione said cautiously, looking up at him and feeling her face burn. It was, of course, a total understatement. She would have wanted nothing more than dancing with him like that. The mere thought of it made heart beat so wildly that she was afraid that Ron would hear it. But there was no way that she could let on about that, not as long as there was still a chance that Ron was just kidding.

"Well, okay then," Ron said under his breath, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath and Hermione thought that he looked as though he was bracing himself for a fistfight against a mountain troll. Her own nervousness almost overwhelmed her when he hesitantly walked up to her but it gratefully diminished when she saw him wipe his apparently sweaty hands on his robes. Hermione could not help but smile at this sweetly awkward gesture of his, but to her horror, she then realized that her own hands were moist as well. But Ron was so close to her now that there was no way of doing anything about it in a discreet manner anymore.

He lifted two very shaky hands and gingerly placed then onto her shoulders and the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck immediately stood on end as parts of his hands came into contact with her bare skin. She took a step forward and gently brought her just as trembling hands to his waist. She felt him quiver even more at her touch and she was relieved that apparently, he was not only serious about dancing with her, but also just as nervous about it as she was.

They started to slowly turn on the spot, careful to avoid any eye contact at first, but Hermione found herself unable to maintain this state. She just could not help it. Her eyes seemed to be irresistibly drawn to Ron's, but the feeling was apparently mutual for when she turned her gaze to him, he was already looking at her. She smiled at him and he blushed even more as he sheepishly smiled back, making her heart flutter. At a couple of feet's distance, she thought that she heard Pansy Parkinson make a snide remark directed at them, but she did not care. The only real thing in the world was Ron, and holding him, dancing with him, was all that was important. She started to study his face - he was looking all nervous, but also happy and somewhat proud of himself and Hermione thought that he had never looked cuter. She dared to look at him more closely, taking in more details of his features, like the generous splatter of freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose, his light lashes and his eyes, his stunningly blue eyes which were now gazing into hers, so intently as though looking through them into her very soul. She sighed lightly, allowing herself to completely lose herself in those eyes.

The song ended and the Sisters started to play another ballad but neither Ron nor Hermione stopped or merely broke the contact at the change of song, both simply continuing to dance as though nothing had happened at all. Ron warmly smiled down at Hermione and her breath caught in her throat as he started to run his thumbs over her skin in slow circles, gently stroking her where her neck connected with her shoulders, and the sensation made her entire body tingle with excitement. She took another step forward, closing the distance between them completely, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him close, and rested her head on his shoulder. He responded by carefully twining his arms around her neck and resting his own head against hers, and she sighed with contentment. His arms felt strong around her and the warmth of his trembling body against hers seemed to seep into her and warm her from the inside, giving her an intense feeling of safety and security, as though here in his embrace, she was at home and nothing bad could ever happen as long as she was here. It was the exact same feeling that he had given her when he had stood up for her against Malfoy back in the Entrance Hall. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the crook of his neck and he chuckled lightly as her breath was tickling him. She smiled fondly at this reaction of his and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent, and it took her all her willpower to not moan out loud; he was smelling wonderfully.

Hermione thought that she could have danced like that forever, but all too soon, the music became fast-paced again. This song must have been one of the Sisters' more popular ones seeing that a large number of pairs was now storming onto the dance floor under loud cheers of excitement. Trying to deny the change of atmosphere, she clung tighter to Ron and buried her face into his shoulder, but the magic of the moment was doubtlessly gone and though she did not want to leave, it felt wrong to her to still be standing here. She also realized that her throat had become awfully dry.

"Ron," she said, reluctantly letting go of him, and she saw him slowly lift his head and blink with disorientation. "Could we get us some drinks? I'm parched."

"Sure," Ron said, still appearing confused, but his confusion slowly mingled with frustration as he looked around. Hermione believed to know what he was thinking. There were several stands with drinks set up around the dance floor, each of which surrounded by a large knot of people who were all waiting for a chance to get a hand on a drink. For a moment, she was disgruntled by the fact that they could not simply order beverages at their tables but then she remembered that the present solution must mean less work for the house elves and she decided that this was for the better. Still, it would take a good amount of waiting until they could finally grab their drinks.

"You can go to back and sit," Ron suggested. "I'm getting the drinks."

Hermione smiled. He could be so sweet sometimes.

"No, I'm coming with you. I'm fine," she insisted. Truth was that she was feeling thirsty and hot and that her feet were starting to ache from all those hours in high heels, but it all was not enough to outweigh her unwillingness to leave Ron's side, and so the two of them set off to the nearest beverage stand together. Hermione queued behind two sixth years who were heatedly discussing whether or not Kirley Duke from the Sisters was a better guitarist than Garrett Summers from The Hobgoblins, and when she felt Ron standing right behind her, she leant into him and closed her eyes. Her heart started to race when he gently curled his arms around her waist and she covered his hands with hers, holding them in place.

Waiting suddenly did not seem quite as bad.

Several minutes later, Ron and Hermione walked back to their table, butterbeers in hands. As they walked, Hermione's free hand accidently grazed Ron's and he immediately took it into his. She wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, but it felt too good to her to put it into question.

She felt a pang of sympathy as they passed by the table at which Ginny was head banging in her chair, her fiery red long mane flying wildly around her head, while Neville was breathlessly sitting opposite her, apparently exhausted from dancing. She knew that Ginny had much rather wanted to go with Harry but had not had the courage to ask him, seeing that he did not appear to reciprocate her feelings. Guilt swept through Hermione; if she had not been so busy psyching herself up for asking Ron, she would have encouraged Ginny to ask Harry. However, the very morning after she had finally asked Ron, Neville had both asked her and Ginny in the common room before she, Hermione, had found the time to properly talk to Ginny. And Ginny had ended up accepting Neville's request.

Now, a more pessimistic Hermione would have told Ginny that Harry was a lost case, that he fancied Cho and that Ginny should stop fooling herself and give up on him. But her own high spirits had caused her later that day to encourage her to try and just be herself around him and wait until he would finally see what was in front of him. So far, Ginny had not been able to bring herself to that, but as she looked up at Ron, Hermione thought to herself that the time would come. It sometimes took a long time to muster the courage for certain things.

Much sooner than she would have liked, their table came into view and there was Harry (whose back was turned towards the dance floor where Cho and Cedric were dancing not too far away) along with Parvati, Padma and a blond older boy Hermione did not know. With much regret, she reluctantly let go of Ron's hand.

"Hey, you two," Parvati cheerily greeted them once they had reached the table and, not waiting for them to sit down, she added, "You know what?"

She looked as though she was eager to share the latest bit of gossip with them, but instead of having the grace to actually speak it out, she only looked at them in an unnervingly hopeful manner as though she was expecting them to actually _answer_ her question with just as much enthusiasm.

Hermione really did not have the least interest in whatever Parvati had to say as, knowing her, it was more than likely about some random couple that she could not have cared less about, but she thought it might be better to just get over with it quickly. "No, what's the matter?" she asked, restraining herself with immense effort from rolling her eyes.

"Hagrid's a half giant," Parvati blurted out, and it looked as though she would have burst if she had had to keep this piece of information to herself just one second longer. "Did you know that?"

Hermione was spared from giving an answer by the sound of violent coughing to her left. Ron, as it appeared, had choked on his butterbeer.

"He's a _what_?" he spluttered once he was capable of more or less normal speech again. "Are you serious? How d'you know?"

"Padma and Étienne here..." Parvati said rapidly, tilting her head to her sister and the blond boy who was apparently Padma's date and now casually lifted a salutatory hand. "...have overheard him talking to Maxime outside. They've just told us..." She now gestured at Harry. "...that Hagrid was telling her about his childhood. He said his mother was a giantess and left his father when he was..." Se flashed a smirk. "...well, _little_. And then he asked her where _she's_ got it from, and then she became all upset and marched away, saying that she wasn't like him..."

"Zat eez so typical," Étienne said haughtily, taking a sip of his drink. "She eez like zat at Beauxbatons, too, denyeeng what she eez, alzough eet's an open secret een ze whole school, of course. Eet's ridiculous. I mean, who does she zink she's kiddeeng?"

"I still don't understand what's so bad about that," Harry remarked, looking confused. "So they're half giants, so what? Hagrid's okay, and so is Maxime, I reckon. It doesn't really change anything, does it?"

"I'll explain later," Hermione said quietly, throwing a glance at Ron who was staring at his butterbeer in obvious shock. She could not quite blame him; giants had a terrible reputation, accounted for their violent and bloodthirsty demeanor. But then again, she thought angrily, Harry was right - Hagrid and Maxime _were_ okay, and questioning their characters now was outrageous.

"Bloody hell," Ron mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the bottle in front of him. "I had no idea. Had you?"

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted. Ron let out a short unsurprised laugh. It was obvious that he had not forgotten how she had figured out Lupin earlier this year, and if she had not been so vexed, the knowledge of that would have flattered her.

"Well, what have _you_ thought he was, Ron?" she snapped. "It might be news to you, but humans don't normally get eleven feet tall!"

"Dunno," he said, seemingly oblivious to the aggressiveness in her voice, and looked up at her. "I've never really thought about it. He could've fallen into a cauldron of Skele-Gro or something."

Hermione could not help laughing at this ridiculous assumption. "What, like Obelix?" she chuckled, but Ron only looked more confused.

"What's Obelix?" he asked.

"He's a character in a Muggle comic," Hermione explained. "When he was a child, he fell into a cauldron with a strengthening potion and retained superhuman strength for the rest of his life."

Ron just goggled at her.

"I've never thought that _you_ of all persons would read comics," he said, looking at her as though he was seeing her for the very first time. "Hey, maybe you should give a try to '_The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle'_," he then added, his eyes gleaming. "Then again, maybe you shouldn't. You'd probably just turn it into Muggle Studies class, picking out the errors and stuff."

"Well, I hope you now see why a good education is so important," Hermione said, smiling. "Better education means more realistic comics."

"Says the one who reads comics about Muggles with potions," Ron replied, shaking his head and grinning.

Their banter continued for a couple of minutes but then Harry made a shushing sound, lifting a hand and staring at a point on his left-hand side in front of him. Both Ron and Hermione followed his gaze.

There was Snape, walking through the hall with long jerky strides, his robes billowing as usual and his face obscured by his flapping black hair. Every now and then he discreetly turned his head towards Karkaroff, who was close at his heels and ceaselessly talking to him, looking desperate, almost pleading. Snape, on the other hand, appeared distinctly nervous and irritable. Through all the noise in the hall, there was no way of understanding what either of them was saying, but Hermione was certain Snape did not want to be seen with Karkaroff and was trying to shake him off.

"Snape and Karkaroff?" Harry whispered incredulously. "What business do they have together?"

"Yeah, that's really weird," Padma piped in. "We saw them outside, too. Karkaroff said that something's been getting _clearer_ for months and Snape said that he should flee but he, Snape, would remain at Hogwarts himself. It was as if they knew each other. They were on first name terms and all."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances.

"They _know each other_?" Harry said slowly. "But where should they... unless..."

His eyes widened with realization and Hermione immediately knew what he was thinking of.

"Harry, you don't seriously mean..." she started, cold horror overcoming her, but she stopped when she realized that they could not talk openly in front of Parvati, Padma and Étienne who were already curiously following their exchange.

"Why not?" Harry replied, his voice hushed. "Remember what we've always thought about Snape. Remember where Karkaroff comes from. Remember what Trelawney said at the end of last term. It all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?"

Étienne snorted loudly, making everyone flinch and look at him.

"What are you kids doeeng, playeeng detective?" he said, chuckling at his own joke. "Who cares where zey know each ozzer from? Maybe zey've met in ze Slimy Oddball Summer Camp. Eet's not important, eez eet?"

He grabbed a single peanut from a bowl on the table, threw it into the air and caught it in his mouth, then lounged back in his chair and brushed his blond fringe out of his eyes, looking inordinately smug as he turned his gaze back at them, as though he had just performed a particularly astonishing piece of magic.

"Come on, Padma, let's go dance, and let zose kids play in peace," he then said with a grin that clearly said that staying with Harry, Ron and Hermione was far beneath him before he got to his feet and grabbed Padma's hand. Padma looked unduly pleased as she rose from her chair as well and let Étienne lead her onto the dance floor.

"He's a git," Ron promptly said, ignoring the withering look Parvati shot at him. Hermione silently agreed. She had not liked Étienne either; his condescending attitude strongly reminded her of Fleur's. Nevertheless, she wished that Ron had at least possessed the thoughtfulness to not speak his opinion out loud in front of the sister of his date.

"What did Trelawney say?" Parvati asked a few moments later, apparently deciding that Ron's rudeness was not worth any more of her attention.

"Er... just wished us a good summer and... y'know... stuff like that," Harry lied and when Parvati raised a brow at him, he added rather uneasily, "Erm, see... We should be dancing, too, don't you think?"

Parvati's look of skepticism was immediately replaced with a one of sheer glee.

"And I thought you'd never asked," she said breathlessly, beaming at him, and she jumped to her feet and grabbed Harry by the wrist, practically dragging him to the dance floor. _"We talk later,"_ he mouthed as he threw a meaningful glance back at Ron and Hermione and a moment later, they, too, had disappeared in the crowd.

"Ron," Hermione said beseechingly once Parvati was out of earshot. "You don't believe that, either, do you?"

Ron did not answer right away. He looked as though he was carefully contemplating the right words to clothe his thoughts.

"It _does_ make sense, you know," he slowly said after a while. "I mean, Trelawney made a prophecy about his servant breaking free and the same night, Pettigrew revealed himself and escaped." He made a face, obviously still disgusted by the true nature of his beloved pet rat. "It's a bit much of a coincidence, isn't it? Then what if the rest of the prophecy comes true as well? What if You-Know-Who's really c-coming back? I have no idea what they mean by the thing that's getting clearer, but if it's something that makes Karkaroff flee, it must mean that something grave is happening. It all sort of fits."

"But it's _Trelawney_," Hermione exclaimed despairingly, half hoping that winning this debate could miraculously make things unhappen. "We all know that she's nothing but an old fraud! You can't seriously _believe_ her!"

"Harry said it was different when she made that prophecy," Ron said quietly. "She was in some sort of a trance and her voice was all different. He thinks it was a real one."

Despite herself, Hermione felt a lump form in her throat. She could not, did not want to believe. After all, their whole assumption was based on nothing but a prediction made by a phony seer and Harry's and Ron's crazy monomania that Snape was a Death Eater. However, she could not deny that something sinister, something dangerous, was going on. She turned away from Ron, trying to sort her thoughts. Her eyes were fixed on George who was rambunctiously jumping around on the dance floor with Fred on his back, but she did not truly see him as she remembered with a feeling of dread how, back in their first year, Harry had told them about Firenze's announcement of another war that would be starting soon. Maybe it was happening after all. Maybe Voldemort was really rising again. The thought made a shiver run down her spine.


	8. Parting

**Author's Notes****: Yes, and I've actually seen a pair of dudes dance in a club the way I had Fred and George dance in the previous chapter. Guys, whoever you are, please know that you've been fanfic-ized!**

* * *

The music, the voices around her, everything sounded very far away, garbled, as Hermione became more and more immersed in her thoughts. The rational portion of her mind was reeling, desperately trying to find alternative explanations for everything, but a different voice in her head, an unnervingly distinct one, told her that all the pieces were perfectly fitting together. At that moment, she hated Ron for agreeing with Harry. She had wanted him to laugh it all off, to say that Harry was being paranoid, to call Trelawney the old batty scammer that she was, but instead he had confirmed Harry's theory, fueling her fears, adding to the horror she was feeling now. She suddenly felt very abandoned.

"Hermione," Ron said eventually. His voice was hollow and when she looked at him, she saw that his face was very pale. "Can you tell me more about that _obelisk_ comic?"

She knew that Ron had said that for the sole purpose of distracting himself from his own thoughts that she was certain were not unlike hers, and she gratefully accepted this diversion. They started to talk again and while it did not fully divert her thoughts from their discussion on Voldemort and all its gruesome implications, it gradually brought her considerably closer to the here and now.

Hermione did not know how much time they had been spending there, sitting and talking, but she slowly started to feel drowsy, the dim light and the deep murmur of numberless voices only adding to this sensation. Her head seemed to weigh more than usual and her eyelids became increasingly heavy as well; she found herself purposefully jerking up and widening her eyes on multiple occasions to keep them from fluttering shut. A yawn forced its way out of her mouth, but she tried her best to stifle it. Next to her, Ron was enthusiastically telling her about the first time he had beaten his brother Bill at chess, and for once, he was practically glowing with pride. She did not want to offend him by making him think that she found his narration boring.

Ron was relieved that the longer they talked, the more Hermione seemed to relax, and, fueled by this knowledge and keen of driving her thoughts as far from Voldemort as he could, his speech became more and more animated and energetic. He did not fail to notice, however, that as the night went on, Hermione's responses became increasingly sparse and curt. As he threw a glance at her, he noted how droopy her eyelids had become and that she had obvious trouble staying awake. He wondered why she was doing this, forcing herself to sit through this, instead of simply telling him that she needed to go to bed, which, after all, would be the _reasonable_ thing to do. Then a thought crossed his mind - was she doing this for _him_? Was it possible that she enjoyed his company remotely as much as he enjoyed hers? That she was doing just what he would have, had their roles been reversed, namely dragging out the inevitable moment when they had to split up for their respective dormitories? He smiled tenderly at her, his insides warming at the mere thought. But it also made him feel guilty. He did not want Hermione to feel uncomfortable just because of him.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly, leaning somewhat closer to her. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Ron thought that it took Hermione longer to reply than this simple question of his would have accounted for, but probably, as the rational part of his brain reminded him, it was simply because of her fatigue.

"Yeah, if you don't mind," she said with hesitation.

"'Course I don't," Ron chuckled, watching her as she rubbed her eyes, a sight that made him feel oddly protective for some reason.

He made to get to his feet, but something about this felt wrong. It wasn't supposed to go like that, was it, ending a ball night by simply getting up and walking off after an angst-driven conversation, as if this was just like any other night in the common room? No, this was special, and he had to do this right.

"But... but before we go..." he asked. "W-will you please allow me f-for one last dance?"

He had barely finished his question when he felt a strong urge to shove his foot into his mouth. Hermione was looking dead tired and he had just asked her to stay up and dance. Well done. He was such a stupid, selfish idiot.

But then the strangest thing happened. Hermione looked up at him and her eyes were sparkling brightly as she beamed at him, as though his question had completely woken her up. It might have been the most beautiful thing that Ron had ever seen and he instantly decided that he regretted nothing.

"With pleasure," she said in a quiet voice that did not quite match her radiant expression, and, all of a sudden, the memory of how intimately they had danced earlier crashed down on him and his stomach churned at the realization that they were about to do it again.

Ron slowly stood up and, grinning nervously, took her hand into his, this time with full intent and consciousness. As he helped her to her feet, her hand closed around his and its warmth seemed to seep from her hand into his, running up his arm and spreading all over his body. His feet felt abnormally heavy as he guided her to the dance floor, occasionally chancing a shy glance at her. One time, she caught his eye and he immediately turned away with embarrassment, painfully cricking his neck as he did, and he felt his ears and face heat up.

"Urgh, not here," he suddenly said and came to an abrupt halt, instantly regretting it as Hermione walked into him and her shoulder crashed into the back of his arm. He turned his head and looked down at her apologetically.

"Percy," he explained in a hushed voice and tilted his head into the direction of a beverage stand where Percy stood, a drink in his hand. He was gazing with what appeared to be an approving smile at something that was hidden from Ron's view by a knot of Ravenclaw girls. Ron did not have the least interest in talking to his brother and having him gush about Hermione and him. Not that he minded that people saw them together, not at all... But knowing Percy, he would probably make a full-blown speech out of it, reading creepy things into the fact that they had gone out with each other and droning on about what a great example they were setting for the relations between Muggles and Wizards, and blah, blah, blah. Creepy.

Without further ado, he struggled through the nearest gap in the flock of people to their right, walking past the Ravenglaw girls in the process. When they had bypassed them, he subconsciously turned his head into the direction Percy was looking. There was a pair that was dancing a couple of feet away from Percy and Ron's eyes became wide when he realized that it was Harry and Ginny. They were a good three feet apart from each other, Harry looking awkward and Ginny looking extraordinarily nervous. Ron arched a brow. When the hell had _that_ happened? He knew that Harry fancied Cho, so surely it must have been Ginny who had asked him. But since when did Ginny talk in front of Harry? Ron sighed inwardly, glad that Harry had not turned Ginny down. He might be his best mate, but if he ever did any such thing as hurting the feelings of his baby sister, things between them would not be pleasant to say the least.

"Hey, Ron!"

At the sound of his name, Ron stopped dead in his tracks again, feeling that he had just jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. The upside was that this time, Hermione had not collided with him, he thought, as he saw Fred and George walk over to them from the table they had been sharing with Lee, Alicia, Katie and Angelina. Both were showing identical grins and they gave him a sense of dire foreboding. This was bound to be ugly.

"Having fun?" George asked.

"More than I thought he'd have, I daresay," Fred replied before Ron could say anything, one of his eyebrows raised as he scanned Ron from top to toe. "Those are most certainly not the robes that Mum has bought."

Ron felt himself blush furiously, both mortification and a wild urge to punch his brother, hard, washing over him, and he was glad that Hermione was still gripping his hand because otherwise, he probably would have acted on that latter emotion. Why the ruddy hell did Fred have to bring those god-awful robes up in front of her?

"I _wonder_ who has," George said overarticulately.

"_Really?_" Fred said, now raising his other brow as well. "I don't."

He conspicuously winked at Hermione and Ron could feel her squirm uncomfortably by his side. Squaring his shoulders, he rose to full height and balled up his free hand to a fist, digging his nails deep into the flesh of his palm, as he tried to fight his increasingly strong want to ram it against Fred's jaw. Making fun of _him_ was one thing, but dragging _Hermione_ into this made his blood boil.

"You better don't mess that up, little bro," George smirked, patting Ron on his back, and Ron suddenly felt deflated, as if George had knocked all air out of his lungs.

"Huh? What d'you mean?" he asked, perplex.

"Well, _whoever_'s bought you that must really like you, spending so much gold for you," Fred said and rolled his eyes. "Though I have no idea why they should bother, daft as you are."

Chuckling, they both scurried back to their table, but not without flashing Ron and Hermione a last grin. Ron instantly dragged Hermione further into the crowd, keen on getting away from the twins as fast as possible.

"They're gits," he muttered apologetically once they had found themselves some space to dance quite in the middle of the hall.

"But they're right about one thing," Hermione said quietly and turned to face him. He gazed down at her, cringing. She appeared nervous and was so much smaller than him, and yet, at that moment, she was the person that he feared most. In the light of the things that the twins had said, whatever she had to say was either great or dreadful and had the potential to completely destroy him now and there was only so much that he could do about it.

"I really _do_ like you," she whispered and gently put her arms around his waist.

Ron could not breathe, both her confession and the sudden closeness overwhelming him. Before he knew what he was doing, his arms went around her shoulders, holding her close to himself as he emitted a short laugh of relief whilst she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Feeling her warm breath tickling and lightly moistening his skin, he squeezed his eyes shut and rested his cheek against the side of her head and slowly, they started to dance again, still in their embrace. It did not really befit the music that was currently playing, but Ron did not care. In his fuzzy mind, it was perfect.

"I like you, too," he whispered into her ear, feeling utterly dazed. He could feel her smile against his shoulder as she hugged him tighter and at that moment, he felt like the proudest, luckiest bloke in the world.

But all too soon, the song ended and they reluctantly separated. Ron was barely able to suppress a grin as he looked down at Hermione who bit her lip as she met his gaze. There was something about the way she looked at him that befuddled his mind even more, making him feel all grown up and gleeful like a little boy both at the same time, and feeling that he had to let out some of it, he stood straight and with a deliberately pompous, Percy-like gesture, offered her his arm. Chuckling, Hermione looped her arm through his and they made their way up to the common room.

They did not share many words as they walked and Ron used the time to replay the night in his mind. He could not believe that this all was for real. He had had - wait, _what_ - something like a _date_ with Hermione and had not completely mucked it up. He had danced with her, embraced her, held her hand and she had dressed up so nicely for him and had given him all those incredible looks and smiles. Hadn't she even ditched Viktor Krum for him? It was unbelievable that he was accepted, allowed, by her, Hermione Granger, the most brilliant and amazing witch he knew, the girl he loved...

The girl he _loved_?

A cold shiver went down his spine at this sudden realization and he felt his heart thump violently somewhere near his collarbone. Could that really be? Did he truly... _love..._ Hermione? It was kind of scary. 'Love' was such a big word. But was a perfect explanation for that had been happening. It explained why he had spent so much time furtively staring at her in the past few months. Why he had willed himself not to ask her to the ball. Why he had eventually decided to break his own defenses and accepted when she had asked him. Why he had been so nervous in her presence. And why it felt so bloody right to be so close to her, to hold her, and to now have her by his side and walk her up to her dormitory. Yes, he _loved_ Hermione. He was madly, head over heels, in_ love_ with her. And probably _had been_ much longer than he would admit to himself.

Ron was startled out of his reverie when they suddenly came to a halt in the common room, right in front of the door to the girls' dormitories. He blinked his eyes in confusion. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not even realized how they had gotten here.

"So..." Hermione said awkwardly, looking up at him but not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah..." Ron replied, not sure what else to say, shock and confusion still clouding his mind. Part of him wanted to throw all caution to the winds and shout out how he felt about her, but the other part was scared. Scared of the significance of his discovery and scared of her possible reaction. He could not think. And so he froze, and he hated himself for it.

It was like the start of the ball all over again. He desperately wished that she would say something, anything. It was just him and though she could not know that, of course, he was vulnerable like never before. She really had no reason to be anxious around him.

Of course, he knew that thinking this, he was quite the hypocrite. After all, it was obvious that for whatever reason, she appeared to be just as nervous around him as he was around her. The way she looked, she probably wanted him to speak as well, just like he wanted her to, because it was just her and he had no reason to be anxious around her.

But as fate would have it, right at the moment when he had decided to speak, Hermione piped up.

"Thanks for tonight, Ron," she said. "I've really enjoyed myself."

"Thank _you_," Ron responded and he wholeheartedly meant it. 'Thanks for... for _everything_."

There, he had said something. And still, he felt so disappointed with himself that he wanted to give himself a nice and proper kick. He had failed her. He had made her break the silence the second time tonight, just because he had not had the guts to speak up himself. He was such a loser. He had to make it up to her.

He was not sure if it was right, if it would not go too far, but he really could not think of anything else to do. And so, he took a deep breath and slowly bent down until his face was level to hers, desperately trying to decipher her expression in the progress. But to his dismay, he found her face impossible to read.

"Good night, Hermione," he whispered and, scraping together all his Gryffindor courage, quickly closed the distance and gave her a shy little peck on the cheek. The moment his lips touched her skin, he immediately pulled back as though they had just come into contact with white-hot iron. He held his breath, ready to take a slap in the face or a good hex, as he looked down at her. She was, however, still opening her eyes, slowly, and then, for a few agonizing, painfully strong heartbeats, just stared at him blankly.

But then her face split into a beam and she threw her arms around him, her embrace so powerful that he actually stumbled a step backwards.

"Good night, Ron," she said merrily, standing on her toes and kissing him on the cheek as well.

Leaning back in her embrace, she looked up at him again and badly suppressed a chuckle. Ron could not blame her. If his expression only conveyed part of his emotions, he surely must be looking like a complete tool. But strangely, he did not mind. Hermione had not objected to his kiss, had even kissed him back... All was good. More than good. Finally putting his arms around her, he grinned back and with a short breathy laugh, she hugged him again, giving him a gentle squeeze, before ultimately letting go and rushing up the stairs to her dormitory. Before she got to the other side of the newel, she turned her head, throwing a last glance down at him and they both beamed at each other.

"Night," she whispered and raised her hand for a little wave.

Finding himself too overwhelmed to speak, Ron just nodded and raised his own hand in the same fashion. She cast him a last warm smile and then continued to walk up and he watched her until she disappeared from his view.

He remained standing there for a couple of moments, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Hermione's hair had swished behind the newel. But then he felt his knees go weak and so he slumped into the nearest armchair, his brain fogged by emotion and memories. He barely noticed how, minutes later, Harry and Parvati came in and walked over to the door to the girls' dormitories themselves where they briefly hugged and then Parvati followed Hermione up.

"Hey, Ron, you alright, mate?" Harry asked, turning towards him.

If possible, Ron's smile grew even broader. "I've never been better," he replied truthfully.

* * *

Little did he know that a few flights of stairs further up, the same grin was plastered on Hermione's face.

As she entered her dormitory, she did nothing to conceal her expression of sheer elation. She felt like singing and dancing through the room, and perhaps she would have even acted on her impulse, had it not been for the bathroom door that creaked open the next moment, giving way to Lavender who was clad in a pink fluffy bathrobe and busy toweling her damp hair.

"Hey, you're back?" Lavender asked unnecessarily, wrapping her hair up in her towel. "Er, are you alright? You're looking sort of funny."

Hermione pondered on that a bit as she drew her pajamas from out of her bed. _Was_ she alright? So much had happened between Ron and her during the last couple of hours and there were so many thoughts and emotions running through her mind, along with a slightly frightening, yet exciting new range of possibilities... She still could not fully wrap her mind around it all. Ron had kissed her. Ron, wonderful Ron, the boy she loved from the bottom of her heart, had really kissed her! She could still feel his lips on her cheek and it made her feel lightheaded.

"I've never been better."

* * *

**And this is it. I hope you enjoyed this fic. If you did, please leave a review. If you didn't, then I'd appreciate some ****_constructive_**** criticism. If it has given you diabetes - well... you have been warned! ;-)  
**

**Happy holidays! :-D**


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